


Bridging the Gap

by euromagpie



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), The Flash - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Pipster, hey look a thing that is like zero percent sad whaaaat, they 'like like' each other, wally west era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 12:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11989686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euromagpie/pseuds/euromagpie
Summary: So apparently James is bisexual, who knew? Or maybe he's just Hartley-sexual. Um, there's some confessions involved. Hartley is a prude without a taste for danger. Tight pants also come into the equation here.Classic.





	Bridging the Gap

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this niiice piece:  
> https://gorogues.tumblr.com/post/4572978703/bwhahahabeck-saynomore-oh-my-god-oh-my-god-oh

Up as high as they were, Central City looked like a well-organised cloud of fireflies, the still lights of the skyscrapers, and the moving ones of traffic speeding past below. Hartley and James were enjoying what was a rare quiet moment in their lives – Hartley had been busy working both as a newbie Hero and the Flash family’s tech-guy (which was a lot more work than he’d anticipated; it seemed Wally could break any electronic as soon as look at it), while James had been striking out solo more often than working with the Rogues these days. He’d become somewhat of a globe-trotter- or a country trotter? Either way, he’d been bouncing around the states with a greater frequency than in even his circus days.

Currently, the two were standing on one of the towers of Gem City Bridge, following a, in Hartley’s opinion, unnecessarily tense rise using James’ airwalkers, where he pretended to almost-drop Hartley every few feet. Between that and his day job, Hartley estimated he’d be dead before he was 35.

Still, it was nice weather, at least. The air was warm, with a perfect breeze – not strong enough to throw either of them off balance, but with enough force to push the muggy stink of reservoir water and traffic smog away from them instead of in their faces.

Hartley leaned against the tower. James stretched his arms above him and inhaled deeply, grinning as his back cracked in a painful arch. Hartley just quirked a smile, coupled with a head-shake that seemed to have become a trademark of his at this point.

“Well! All’s well that ends well, I’d say.” James said.

“Oh?”

“Billy’s fine, Mindy’s fine, world saved.” He listed, clapping his hands together like he was dusting off the dirt of a hard day’s work, before propping them up on his hips. He was still casually floating off the edge of the bridge ledge (which was definitely wide enough for the both of them, and then some, but James wasn’t James unless he was showing off about something).

“Y’know I can see a lot of you in Billy.” Hartley commented, ignoring how snugly James’ black top clung to his chest with years of practiced ease. If he didn’t know better, he could have sworn James picked his new outfit just to get under Hartley’s skin; the Italian had been unreasonably attractive when he’d been sporting pixie boots and a devil’s cape, let alone donning skin-tight black, long gloves and a leather jacket. Even his indecent pants had toned themselves down to only slight retina-searing.

But Hartley did know better.

James tossed his long hair at the comment.

“The devilishly handsome looks? Sterling sense of humour? An IQ to die for?” He smirked.

Hartley huffed out of his nose.

“I was gonna say his general resourcefulness and ability to pull off surprises even after the last second.”

James seemed to consider this for a second, scratching at his chin, before giving a conceding nod.

“Well, it’s better than my nose at least. Hey, talking about sons, how’s ours?”

A small crease appeared between Hartley’s brows.

“What, Blatt? Haven’t heard from it in, oh, _years_. Probably got retconned.” He added, only slightly bitter.

“Happens to the best of us.” Was James’ philosophical rejoinder.

“Although…” Here James snuck a considering glance Hartley’s way, “There’s some things that deserve to be retconned.”

Hartley raised a brow.

“Are you _threatening_ me?” He asked, baffled.

“Only your old skirts and stockings look.”

Hartley groaned and covered his face with his hands.

“OKAY! OKAY I GET IT! The tunic _looked like a dress_ , I _know_! Geez, you guys didn’t rag on Boomer half as much as me, and he was dressed like a stewardess!”

He looked up from his shamed palms to the sound of boot soles alighting on concrete. James was suddenly standing on the ledge, a curious look in his eyes. He gave Hartley a once-over.

“I like this one better.”

“Umm. Okay.” Hartley said slowly. James had taken a step towards him, and Hartley would have backed up to put space between them if only he wasn’t already standing back to the wall.

“I _really_ like this one. Spandex? Good choice.”

Hartley’s breath caught in his throat as James moved closer again. He could feel the heat radiating from the other man as he advanced.

He cleared his throat.

“Um, James?”

“Yeah?” That strange look in James’ eyes hadn’t gone away.

“You’re standing, ah, a mite close, don’t you think?” Hartley said pointedly. Up this close, he should have been able to see James’ pores and jaw darkened with stubble, but he looked as irritatingly photoshopped as ever. He smelled like a strange mix between gunpowder and pomade.

It shouldn’t be as attractive as it was.

“Oh, I dunno. ‘S a good view from here.” James said, his tone casual and light, a complete contrast to the tense situation that seemed to have suddenly snapped up around Hartley.

“Uh-“ Hartley normally wasn’t the type to be struck speechless when put under pressure and yet-

James took a look at Hartley’s face (which he was pretty sure was approaching the same colour as his hair) and let out a chuckle.

“Pal, don’t tell me you don’t recognise a come-on when you hear one.” He needled.

“Are you trying to come on me?” Hartley said before he could stop himself. He couldn’t help the dirty snigger that escaped alongside his crude joke.

“That’s the plan.”

Hartley felt his brain short-circuit. He could only blink stupidly at James, who looked, for once in his life, completely sincere. And hot. And very _, very_ close.

And whoops, yep, that was definitely a gloved hand that slid the short distance over his stomach, slithered across his hip and settled on the dip of his waist. It was like a brand that Hartley couldn’t ignore.

“Hold on. Wait, wait – what?” He needed this situation to rewind itself a minute or so, because he was pretty sure he’d missed some kind of crucial development in between casually chatting about their latest triumph over a mysterious evil nemesis and his best frenemy seeming determined to feel him up in public.

“Stop. Stop, stop.” He said finally, shaking his head.

James immediately stepped back, hands up.

Hartley prodded a finger in James’ chest, narrowing his eyes at him.

“Okay, who put you up to this? If this is a bet with that Blue Devil guy, I swear, enemy-of-my-enemy does _not_ apply here, I _will_ punch you.” He threatened.

“I don’t doubt it.” James responded, an admiring look still in his eyes. He slowly lowered his hands.

“Piper. I _swear_ , this isn’t a bet or a dare or me just being bored- well, maybe I’m a _little_ bit bored, but I promise, this is just a catalyst for something I’ve been meaning to do for a while.”

James hesitated for a moment. Then he leaned forwards.

“Look- please don’t punch me. Yet.”

Then he kissed him.

 

Now, Hartley can say he’s kissed a fair amount of people, even a couple of girls, back when he’d been pretending to everyone, even himself. So yeah, he wasn’t a stranger to kissing, he wasn’t even a novice.

But James kissed like, like-

James was a _good_ kisser.

Hell, a few more seconds and Hartley might upgrade him to a _brilliant_ kisser.

He got with the program with barely a pause – James kissed _him_ , after all, and he’d seen enough Gay Panic cases to recognise that James wasn’t having one. Hartley didn’t make a habit of looking gift horses in the mouth, especially when he was doing things to his tongue he’d pay him to carry on doing.

Neither being superhuman though, they did eventually have to come up for air.

Hartley blinked, licking his lips to soothe the tingling sensation.

James, meanwhile, was eyeing him with some trepidation, like he was still waiting for a fist to the nose.

 

“Okay.” Hartley squeaked. He cleared his throat, then tried again.

“Okay. But also- why?”

Alright, so that kiss might have fried his brain a bit, but in his defence, it felt like the kiss had come out of nowhere. James had seemed as straight as any man dressed like he did could – and Hartley had long ago learned not to judge sexuality by clothes. During those days, bright-and-tight was just what villains _wore_.

James shrugged awkwardly.

“What do y’want me to say, Pipes? You’re hot.”

“Oh _really_? Because I _seem_ to remember someone, say your height and colouring, telling me just last week that I looked like Jabba the Hut post treat-day.” Oh no, Hartley Rathaway did not forgive, and he certainly didn’t forget, at least not without a reasonable amount of grovelling.

James winced.

“In my defence, your honour, I actually called you _Pizza_ the Hut and that was on account of you tryin’ to give Flasher a run for his money, inhaling those deep pans.”

There was silence for a moment.

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry for calling you a brilliant parody in a movie that remains a hilarious classic to this day.” James said.

Hartley considered the offer.

“Eh, I’ll take it.”

“Great, so can we-?” James made a vague gesture, first at Hartley, then himself. It sort of looked like a blind man trying macramé for the first time.

But Hartley wasn’t born yesterday.

“What are you up to, James?” He asked, serious this time. He wanted to believe that James was being serious, he really did, but, well, he also _knew_ James Jesse. Hell, his _masks_ had masks. There was a trick under every trap, and a sinner under the saint. He could talk a ruler into a knot, and Hartley had untwisted himself from James enough times over the years to not ever want a repeat experience.

“I- I think you’re- “ James fished for words, possibly for the first time in his life, “I like being _around_ you, Hartley. You’re cute and funny and you’ve put up with me longer than, geez, probably anyone ever? I guess, I’d like you to put up with me for even longer. And in closer quarters, if you know what I mean-“

“Yeah, I think I get the gist. But James, I’m not into casual. I’ve been there, done that. And I don’t think you’re really into long term commit-“

“I can try.”

Hartley blinked, genuinely surprised. He looked at James.

“Really?”

James nodded determinedly, his ponytail bouncing behind him.

“I can try this whole relationship thing, for you. I can’t promise I’ll be perfect, or even good, but…”

“I wouldn’t expect you to be a guru, Tricks. Just a person who’s willing to give it a go.”

“I can do that. But Piper-“

This time James caught Hartley’s gaze, and the hand was back on his hip, its twin joining on the other side. Hartley felt his heart beat rise again.

“-do you like _me_? Like, past my astonishing Adonis-like physique.”

“…”

Hartley felt his words fail him. He knew he was _attracted_ to James, most things with a pulse were, but past that? He’d never let himself think that far, it was too dangerous. Seriously, even if the Rogues seemed generally not to give a shit about his preferences, he also knew, from bitter experiences, that acceptance was a different monster if it became too personal. He seemed to have a habit of falling for the pretty-but-unstable type and he didn’t want to know how James (or, on his better days, Mark) would react if he let himself slip. Stand a bit too close, sound a bit too fond, pay slightly too much attention, and he could find himself with a target on his back. Or not.

Yet it wasn’t something he really wanted to risk.

Of course, these days, he wore a target for different reasons, and he’d though even before tonight, that James probably wouldn’t try to maim him permanently should any parts of Hartley’s attraction come to light. But he’d pushed the more romantic feelings down for so long he wondered if he hadn’t smothered them completely.

James seemed to sense something of his monologue, because the hopeful grin on his face seemed to become strained, falling at the edges.

He clucked his tongue.

“Right. So this is a bit awkwa-“

Hartley felt him start to pull back, but before he could, his hands snapped out, wrapping that clingy shirt in his fists, keeping James where he was.

“I like you, James. God help me, I fucking do.”

He did. He knew it as soon as the words came out – as annoying as James could be, his good parts tipped the scale. His dreadful humour, his loyalty, his razor sharp intelligence. Even on topics he didn’t have a particular interest in, he could guest-star in Plato’s symposium. And Hartley just liked spending _time_ with him, whether it was on team-ups, or just hanging out, or on increasing occasions, sitting in Hartley’s apartment helping each other fix mechanical problems. At this point Hartley actually had reverse-engineered the airwalkers from how often he’d had to fix shortages or blown circuits, while James knew Hartley’s toolbox like season 1 of the Looney Tunes.

The thought of losing James over something like this was-

Inconceivable.

 

James’ face suddenly split into a breath-taking grin. It didn’t diminish even as he leaned over to kiss Hartley again. This time the kisses were small and short, more teeth as neither could stop smiling. A sudden shove from James pushed Hartley back into the side of the tower as he plastered himself across his body.

Hartley gasped into James’ mouth as they found themselves crotch to crotch. The feeling of James’ gymnast’s chest rubbing against his sent the blush racing up his face again.

Suddenly the lips were gone from his as James started mouthing at his jaw, moving down to his neck, where he sucked hard enough that it would surely bruise. Hartley hissed as James gave a sharp nip to the spot, pulling back to admire his handiwork. In retaliation, Hartley snaked his own hands around James to give a sharp pinch to his rump.

James waggled his brows.

“Should’a known you’d have your share of kinks, Pipes. It’s always the quiet ones.”

Hartley snorted.

“Since when have you known me to be quiet?” It was a rhetorical question.

“The man’s got a point.” James conceded. Clever hands snuck up to the green cowl around Harley’s neck and started tugging it off.

“Woah there!” Hartley grasped a hold of the green fabric. A small tug of war ensued, James pouting.

“Whaaaat.” He whined.

“James. Pal. We are _not_ doing this in public.” Hartley spoke like James was five years old.

“We’re at the top of a _bridge_ , Hart. Nobody’s’ gonna be looking up.” He shot back.

Hartley stood resolute though, shaking his head, still protectively trapping his cowl against his collarbone.

“Nope. Not doing that.”

“Dude! It’s not like we’d be the only ones. Lemme tell ya, the stories Kitty told me about her and Bats-“

“Wait, wait- seriously? Catwoman and _Batman_?” The idea boggled Hartley’s mind, not least because of the concept of the Terror of Gotham even having something as mundane as a sex drive.”

“You…are probably the _only_ one in the _world_ that that news surprises anymore. She said they even have a favourite chimney. Apparently one of her best memories was when he pinned her to the wall with a batarang and then went down-“

“ALRIGHT. Don’t really need, or want, to know about that, thank you. Now I feel even less inclined to do this out here.” Hartley shook the disturbing mental image from his brain.

He was brought back to the present by a grinding roll of James’ hips against his.

“You sure~” James tempted. Bastard _knew_ what he was doing to Hartley.

“Pre – oh, god – tty suRE.” Hartley groaned as his voice shook and broke. But this just wasn’t _him_ – the rough concrete against his back and the idea of the CCTV news helicopters passing by were more distracting than arousing. Hartley simply wasn’t an exhibitionist, and James seemed to sense it, from his sigh breathed into the crook of Hartley’s shoulder.

“Pffft, heroing’s made you a bore, Hart.” He pouted. At least he hadn’t called him a prude, else Hartley wouldn’t have put out simply out of spite.

“But you _like_ it.” He teased instead.

James rolled his eyes, before a mischievous twinkled graced his eye.

Before Hartley could blink, he was in the air, scooped up with an arm around his back and one under his knees.

“Mr Rathaway, your Uber is here.”

“James, if you pretend to drop me again-“

“What, you’d rather I _really_ drop you?”

“If any sort of accelerated descent is involved in this flight I’ll drop _you_ soon as my feet are on the ground.” Hartley warned.

James just smirked and ducked to press a quick kiss to Hartley’s nose.

“Hold on tight, pookie.”

Hartley’s response to the nickname was lost in the rushing wind.

 

And they lived happily ever after.

Fin.


End file.
